Leftover Tea Leaves
by Birddi
Summary: Why you shouldn’t own a Meth Lab, kill your dog, or other Sunday activities. Sometimes it just didn’t pay to wake up in the morning. Slashy pairings to come.
1. XMen Powers are Wanted

Title: Leftover Tea Leaves

- Why you shouldn't own a Meth Lab, kill your dog, or other Sunday activities.

Author: Birddi

Disclaimer: … This should be obvious.

Summary: Sometimes it just didn't pay to wake up in the morning.

Dedication: To Beutelmaus, a wonderful friend.

**Pairings to be explored: **

AxelRoxas

RikuSora

SeiferHayner

ZexionDemyx

XigbarTidus

SephirothCloud

MarluxiaLeon

Yeah, you read right. Marluxia semeing Leon. That's right.

* * *

It sucked not having the powers of God. It would make mass murder so much easier.

Roxas frowned, but did as instructed without complaint. It would be useless, and impractical to tell off the instructor. He liked to think himself out of the stage of teenage rebellion fits. Instead he slipped the ear buds, which had previously been hanging from the collar of his navy hoodie, into his ears and started towards the track. It helped block out the insulting calls from his so-called peers.

He stopped short of the track, jumping up and down a few times before, bending down in a few stretches. Just because he had no interest in the school, in the stupid track try outs, or in the older males who still taunted his back, didn't mean that he wanted to hurt himself. He wasn't a masochist.

Sadist, yes. That he admitted to. But a masochist, no.

"Oh look, newbie's tryin' to act like he's good."

Roxas didn't even dignify that, or the chuckles that followed, with a look. He didn't want to do this. He flicked his player on and a constant bass met him, and the low crooning of the female singer washed over him, and he started off on his run.

He felt a particularly kinship with the song's lines, "I'm leaving for a destination, I still don't know."

It was ironic considering his current punishment. His current life really.

If he didn't have an audience, he might have chuckled.

Setting himself at a medium pace, he found the songs rhythm to work well for him, the steady techno beat became his run. He hit the repeat button on his small music player, and set off. It wasn't that Roxas didn't enjoy running, far from it, after breaking his wrist it had been the only way to get exercise in his hometown. He had been running in the morning hours around his old neighborhood for years, and while this new town had provided him with better sidewalks, Roxas hadn't seen any reason to leave the comfort of his bed. It was warm.

The brisk pace he was working himself into, helped him breathe, helped him from the sinking feeling that had been dragging at him for the past few weeks. People sucked. He was nineteen and stuck back in high-school, it was from a Twilight Zone rerun.

Roxas found he was running faster, and snorted bitterly.

It messed up his breathing, and likewise his timing. He stumbled. Hearing that crowd's ensuing catcalls of delight over the pounding anthem in his ears, he turned up the volume and started again.

He focused on his breathing, in and out. He listened to the sax, and it made the run easier. The track's red pavement quickly came and disappeared beneath his feet, and Roxas continued his run around the oblong track.

He took a quick glance to the side, the other's were starting apparently.

He turned his eyes back to the track ahead of him, content to leave the other boys alone. Roxas ran past them on the inside track, making sure to keep a good distance away from the rowdy ones. It was too easy to turn and fight. Roxas never had an issue fighting, far from what the stupid idiots might think. It was reigning in the inferno that was his temper that was his problem. If he started fighting, he honestly wasn't sure if he'd stop.

And it wouldn't due anything but aggravate his older brother if he got into a fight in his first few days of school. Cloud was his only home right now, and he needed Cloud's pity right now, as much as he might loathe that knowledge.

He focused on his breathing.

He didn't anticipate anything as he sensed the track to team come up on his right, so the foot that came out to trip him caught him off guard. It was a low trick. Some blonde ran by laughing with his friends. Roxas hit the pavement, smashingly.

He landed on his side, his left wrist tucked instinctively to his chest. A bad habit, that Roxas couldn't seem to shake since he had broken it. The fall had jostled his ear buds, and the steady rhythm beat out next to him, a few inches away from his nose. His shoulder and hip hurt.

Roxas rolled onto his knees, jaw clenched.

Some short brunet, stopped at his side. "Oh man! Are you okay? I don't know what's up with Tidus today but he isn't usually like that. I'm real sorry."

Roxas scoffed, scooped up his player, and stood. He eyed the brunet, panting a bit from his run, though Roxas eyed the quarter of the track that the other must have only just begun to run with a raised eyebrow. Surely the run wasn't that tiring. Loser.

The other didn't seem to catch on, and only ringed his hands and looked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Roxas nodded, trying not to think how much his side hurt, or how embarrassed he was. He new his self-esteem wasn't rising because of it. He didn't want to think which stung worse - his pride or his knee. So he didn't.

He checked over his player, and headphones. He put them back on, and turned for a new song. He hated this. He hated everything, right now, and he wanted to fall into the role of an angst-ridden teenager, but he didn't. As bad as his life seemed right now, and looking for the next few years, he could deal with it.

He'd fucking jack off to deal with frustrations, until he'd worn his dick off, if he had to. But he'd deal with it.

"Yeah," he replied, not caring if his northern accent, slicked with upper echelon roots went unchecked or not. He wasn't even going to pretend to slum it. He slid his gaze to the boy, who looked a bit like him, "Thanks."

A happy giggle met him, "I'm Sora!"

They both turned to face the instructor who had called out to them in warning. Sora blushed, and Roxas resisted the urge to flip the instructor off. The boy was cute, not Roxas's type but cute.

Settling to ignore the man, he turned and nodded to the boy. "Roxas."

Roxas turned back to the track, finding a new song, and started on his run again. Sora was left watching as the blonde took off at a brisk pace, as Roxas still didn't want company.

This song was good, but the beat felt different. He hadn't realized how quick he was running, until he passed the blonde, who had tripped him, and his friends. He didn't stop. Didn't even look at them, they weren't worth it.

He hated where he was. He missed his life, he hated the fact that he couldn't go back. He deplored that he was leeching off his brother, even though Cloud didn't mind. He hated that the only way to relieve some of the financial burden of going to the academy was to get a scholarship in a sport. Good grades apparently were required regardless. He hated, absolutely hated, that he couldn't do gymnastics. He hated it. It tasted like acid.

The song wasn't good enough, and he hit the backwards button without having to look down to do it.

He went back to the first song. He turned it up, and continued to run.

He was starting to tire, but shrugged it off opting to dip back into his ever present ire for the energy to run. He needed to work out his aggression. That's what every counselor he had been dragged to as a child had told him. He wasn't likely to find a nice secluded shower anytime soon. So he put his feet to the pavement and ran, not carrying what lap he was on.

The rest of the world could sod off right now.

So what, if didn't know where he was going.

He doubted the rest of the people in the world did either.

Leon paused. It seemed that the new kid just wouldn't work out with the team willingly. Sure, he heard the taunts from the kids but he knew from experience that it was a hazing process that all runts received. It probably didn't help that the blonde boy was shorter than the rest, or had an air about him that made him seem like such an easy opponent.

Sure, Sora was physically similar, but no one had done anything to him. Hell, it was Sora. You just didn't mess with him, you couldn't. It was like some unwritten rule, and certainly Riku would persecute and crucify anyone who didn't follow that rule explicitly.

But the blonde, Roxas, was different. Leon personally thought it was the vicious glare the midget had. The self-righteous anger and obvious dissatisfaction with everything around him, had even set Leon's teeth on edge, and the group of boys had responded in kind.

The remarks weren't anything too rattling, Leon would have made sure to put a stop if they had gotten bad, but it struck him odd that the boy didn't seem to really respond to it at all. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the blonde seemed to be content to verbally spar with witty comments that had Leon's lip quirking. Who knew someone who looked like a blonde version of Sora could be so snarky. It hadn't been until Seifer, the instigator of this little verbal sparing, had spoken that seemed to set the blonde off.

"Aren't you a prissy lil' thing, sunshine?"

Leon rolled the sarcastic words over, and debated if it was the word sunshine or the reference to his height that had set the blonde boy off. It was always the shorter ones he had thought, wincing at the painful sounding thud of Roxas's fist whipping Seifer's head to the side. They caused the worst trouble.

The blonde hadn't said anything in his defense, nor at the threats Seifer screamed, or at the punishment Leon dole out. Leon ordered Roxas to give him forty laps, a seeming impossibility for newcomers and conditioned runners alike. He had figured the boy would quit actually, just give up and join the sidelines and wait for the practice to end or go home.

He had turned his back to the kid to watch as some of the younger members tried out for the position of high jumper.

When that was over, he had led the group to the track, and much to his amazement was the short blonde, running around the track. Leon unconsciously appraised the younger one's form and noted that it wasn't bad, pretty good if he was being charitable. It was a completely contradiction to the blonde's earlier answer if he had ever done track before. He stepped up to his silver haired captain. "How long has he been at it?"

Riku didn't turn to face him, and Leon wasn't surprised at the blunt disinterest, "I'd say he's on his thirteenth lap."

Leon raised an eyebrow.

So the kid had managed to run the entire time, hm? An extremely impressive feat for someone who claimed to not have any prior training, which made Leon doubt the truth in the kid's answer even more so. He didn't like liars on his team.

"He's good." Turning to his side, he watched as Sora bounded over. Slinging his thin arm's around Riku's waist. Leon watched, as if almost instantly, the previous statue-like Riku transformed into something more human. More warm. It was disconcerting, no many how many times he had watched the stupid miracle.

Leon turned away from them, but he wasn't quick enough to miss as Riku ran his hands though Sora's brown pointed locks and smile warmly at the other. "Aye, brownie."

Leon rolled his eyes at the love-birds, and blew his whistle to gather the group's attention.

Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed.

He needed to get laid.

Cloud sighed inwardly, before hopping up onto the bar. It was sticky with old beer and human sweat. He would have to scrub the bottom of his shoes off before he went home. It gulled him to think about tracking in germs to his cozy apartment. Bending his knees, he rocked his leather clad backside to the music. Placing his hands on his knees he leaned forward, and literally dropped it, as was instructed by the music. Grinding to the side, Cloud rolled his head back in a mock imitation of pleasure.

No one cared for authenticity in places like these.

Spin out, Cloud jumped in pace for dramatics, throwing his hands up while he did, carefully paying attention to the way his boots skidded across the surface of the bar. Tracing his hands around the body, Cloud did as he normally did to keep his mind off the way he made money, made rent.

He made the grocery list.

Pulling his shirt slowly off, peeling the tight cloth off Vaseline rubbed skin. Biting his lips and dropping his head back, he thought of oatmeal. Grinding his pelvis against an invisible partner, he humped the air and played with his nipples briefly before dropping down to bounce low to the floor. Grape jelly, and eggs.

Thank god he was away from the grabby people tonight, small favors and all that. He almost felt bad for Tifa.

They were out of detergent, and they had about two piece of bread left. He would also need to pick up milk, and Roxas would need soy milk.

He rolled his hips, much to his watchers delight, and thought about why someone related to him could ever drink the imitation milk. It wasn't even milk, it was bean juice. He was treated to a mental image of little elves grinding each bean, very much like one would to extract the juice from an orange, and mentally paled. Yuck.

Bean guts!

Talk about disgusting, he heard another wolf whistle as he leaned back and continued on with his part dance part strip tease.

They needed butter, too.

Maybe he would spoil himself and pick up some ice-cream.

* * *

Let me know what you think, and want to see in the future. Maybe I'll add it in as I don't have a really clear idea of what I want out of this yet.

Cheers!


	2. Dreaming of Daisies

Freaking bastards

Title: Left Over Tea Leaves

Chapter: Dreaming of Daisies

Author: Birddi

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts – and guess what, I don't own it.

Everyone - thank-you so much for your support. It's much appreciated! Your fabulous reviews are really strong indicators to me on how the works being perceived. You are the ones keeping me motivated to continue when exams and work get too much.

**This story is pretty open in a plot line, which gives you the benefit of having some really strong input with the progression of the story. **

**The question for the next chapter: How does Cloud know Sephiroth?**

**Winner gets their idea written out – and an **_**ADVANCED**_** copy. **

* * *

--

Sora loved many things.

He loved Riku, he loved ice cream, and bananas, and even the name Kibbles.

But the one thing he did not love was allergies. The sore tissue-rubbed nose or the sticky liquid in his eyes, the symptoms of fall left him quite vexed. His head was stuffy. His eyes ached, and he hadn't known that was even possible until now. He had even sneezed so hard that his elbow hurt. His elbow!

The entire allergy thing was getting ridiculous. He was an outdoor person. His entire childhood was spent outdoors, and to be suffering the symptoms on the brink of his adulthood was not what he wanted to be doing.

Sora hated puffy eyes. But that's what he had, little crusties and all, and Riku could kiss his round bubble ass if he said a word about it.

He glared down at his snot. It was a pity he had used all the tissues and had to now rely on his T-shirt.

Tissues were overrated anyways.

They had none of the guilty pleasures that blowing your nose in fabric had.

Well, it wasn't that big of a deal, he was the one who did the laundry anyways. He was kind of glad for that too. Having his mom clean up the spunk from one of the nights Riku spent the night, probably wouldn't be the best way to come out of the proverbial closet.

Besides, he was completely alright with the fact that he did the laundry. He liked his mom's cooking.

She made the best pancakes.

It was a pitiful thing that he was going to have to commit her once he went to the university. He was really going to miss her. His conscious certainly wasn't allowing him to forget it, and really, did it matter so much if he felt like the living embodiment of guilt?

He only had a year left anyhow.

….Fall sucked.

He needed to have Riku remind him to get tissues.

* * *

--

He leaned over, adjusting his messenger bag as he did, and took a sip of water. Trying, rather unsuccessfully, to ignore the copper taste and the images of rusted pipes and algae infested water that was now sitting heavy in his belly. Cringing, he closed his eyes to gag down the rest of the rancid smelling water from the fountain.

Hands slammed down around him, startling him. He sneezed out the water as he nearly jumped out of his skin. A pair of heavy calloused hands smashing roughly over his own, keeping the bar down and the water constant.

Roxas reared back; only to have two other pairs of hands grab roughly his head and torque it back into the stream of water. Opening his mouth to scream out only let the water in. Sputtering, he tried not to gag, to pull away, even tried to lift up on the bar, and tried to spin out to face his attackers. Useless. In the headlock he was in, all he could do was stand there. He despised having his head grabbed. Surrounded by what he supposed were three of the track Neanderthals, he felt a near blind rage come upon him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

He was sure they were going to be powder by the month's end.

A mantra of the words 'No fight' ran through his head. Logic told him that they were all young, seventeen at most, and were kids from suburbia trying to act tough. They were stupid rich brats without anyone to love them. They had small dicks. They were going to get old, go bald, pack on the pounds, marry a sleezy bint with no teeth, and have kids who hated them. They would get hit by a car and be roasted in hell. He tried to think of something worse…They were going to work in the fast food industry as servers for the rest of their lives, for minimum wage and have a crappy boss.

It didn't help, and Roxas still wanted to kill them.

His brief attempt at pacifism was interrupted by a spiked bracelet digging into his cheek. Obviously, one of the assholes had a leather fetish.

Kicking back he caught the other in the leg somewhere, and used the other's startled shout as a distraction to scurry out of their hold. What faced him was not pretty.

Three of the track-jerks from yesterday: two blondes and one brunet. He recognized the blondes, them being the worst of his tormentors, Tidus and Seifer.

What happened was what usually happened on a three-on-one fight. It didn't help that Roxas wasn't allowed to fight under threat of expulsion.

He felt his head slam against the locker door, it didn't hurt. Not really, but it did send the world spinning. He barely caught his breath before a fist caught him in the side. He closed his eyes, and tried to allow it to happen.

It was a lot easier than having anal sex for the first time that's for sure. He smirked at the comparison, trying to think of a stress reliever that didn't involve homicide or atomic bombs.

Roxas started counting.

One…Two…Three….Four…

It was at the number forty-three when a teacher came and broke it up. He didn't say anything.

"What happened here?" The middle-aged woman asked, a global studies instructor if Roxas wasn't mistaken. He cloud tell by the soccer-mom hair style, curled in a seventies shag, and the mar-mish drab dress that seemed to really only be seen on woman with bad taste or those from small towns in Wisconsin.

He glared, but refused to comment. Clearly the woman had no idea how schools liked this worked, hell even he had forgotten after he left the first time. Why mark yourself up for another fight by handing ammunition to pack-minded morons unless you want a target painted on your back.

Foolish bitch.

He ignored the blusterous woman and went over to pick up his book bag, it having been tossed down the hall. It was ripped, but only two of his books were on the ground. Scooping them up with angry flourish, he was somewhat proud at his ability to ignore the blood in his mouth and the other students' who were staring en mass.

He was half attempted to ask a trembling skinny girl who was standing in front of him, pretty with blonde hair and blue frightened eyes, if she enjoyed the group mentality that was pandemic amongst her peers.

He didn't.

He chewed on his chivalry like rancid tasting thing it was.

Without a glance he moved around the shaking girl and towards the library, slamming the door behind him.

Stupid freaking bastards.

Roxas slammed his books, heavy with words he wouldn't read, down across the wooden library table. He clenched his back molars in aggravation, hating how the groves in his teeth fit so well together. If he wanted to bite down so hard they'd break, they should. He knew his face was flushed with anger, he could feel it. His arms were numb with frustrated antipathy.

How he yearned to have the ability to blow stuff up. Make all his problems, and daily aggravation smolder in front of him. He knew hearing the dying screams of his tormentors would please him; a childhood on shallow Hollywood movies brought many images to mind. What he wouldn't give to be able to play god for the day. He felt a hearty cackle brewing.

He'd smite them.

Pausing as an irrational flitter of humor brought his lips into a pained twitch. Smite. What a fucking awesome word. Axel would say it all the time. Making promises of smiting their neighbor's cat, or swearing today was the day he would smite their old alarm clock.

Ready to bust a cap in the ass of the bedside clock, Roxas purposefully let his thoughts drift. It was easier to play oblivious than to deal with the immaturity of his classmates.

Axel and him had just gotten a one bedroom flat, it was small. Dingy too, and yellowed by old cigarette smoke and there had been a scurry of critters when they had first turned the light on, but it was theirs. All they had to account for was the furniture and the cheap fee for rent and utilities.

They had also been broke.

Axel had enough in his name to tackle the down payment and the first few months of rent and food but that had been pretty much it. Demy had needed it more, and Roxas could never have begrudged Axel helping a friend.

So to make up for it they had gone shopping for stuff to furnish their new pad, as Axel called it, at the local thrift store. Roxas had never gone to that type of establishment before, but Axel knew the layout better than he did his work. Roxas was a bit shamed by his googol-eyed introduction to the store of awesomeness. At the time he had stared at the grime on the floor, and the junk on the shelves in mild appallement. The people there weren't what he was used to. One woman, large and untidy swept by screaming to her renegade son a few isles over, and another, a cashier had snorted before spitting into a cup by her register. He had come to admire the forty-something, legally named Delicious Wright in the following months.

She had gold teeth and could curse in nine languages. She made a wonderful grandmother too.

Delicious had helped them pick out their clock.

Their broken when bought block, that Axel had insisted they buy it with their week's grocery money. It had been a smiling daisy with sunglasses. A plastic daisy clock, with one of its white pedals missing, a face-splitting grin done in yellow plastic, and comically large pink sunglasses. It had horrified Roxas at fist sight, but had gone home with them. It had been possessed.

It would go off at random times usually, and this was what had convinced Roxas of their demon clock's true nature, was that the clock would blare its alarm a minute before the coffee was ready, or the lasagna was done. But only with those two foods, and only when those were cooked; and attributing Axel's rather sporadic cooking times, such as three in the morning lasagna binges – it was all very suspicious.

It had also taken a penchant for turning its radio receiver on when quests rang the door bell.

Axel would laugh and call it Kuujo.

Roxas would keep Axel between him in the clock at night. It had never hurt to be sure.

Axel, damn it.

He wanted his Axel. He knew his face was in a pout, it was habit now, as it usually got him his way. Thank god for good looks and a full bottom lip.

He was trying to ignore the fact that he was acting like a dramatic girly girl.

Silently, he vowed to commit suicide by disembowelment if he used the world like more than necessary, or said the word whatever. Or if he struck up a conversation about his feelings, or wore a dress. He'd drink Drano before that. It would be much more painful and he was positive that, he deserved a cruel death for willingly putting on a dress.

It'd burn out his belly in a cleansing ritual before it ruined the dress.

He could have shuddered at the thought, but his thoughts had already moved on.

Five more months.

* * *

--

A few hours later found the groceries put away and Cloud dead to the world in bed, one arm flung out from his curled in position. A vintage thin sheet entangled itself sinuously around his sometimes-flailing limbs. His breathing was even. His dreams were not, unknown and unrealized fantasies occurred in his dreams. His alarm clock was set to go off at noon.

His cock already was.

He was dreaming of Sephiroth.

He rested in the dimness of the morning sun. The blinds were drawn almost closed, but the window was open and they rustled in the breeze. Nag champa incense burned in its porcelain elephant container on the dresser. A croony female voice and a broken violin  
played from the radio keeping the blonde's peace. Low, sullen music helped lull Cloud to sleep.

Almost spartan in its design, the bedroom was like the rest of the apartment: refurbished furniture, inexpensive plastic bins, and tacky dollar store throw pillows. The room was clean, not tidy, as the blonde had never had the opportunity to impress. Laundry lay ignored, needing to be put away. Habit sustained him now that his little brother was staying with him.

It had surprised him when he had gotten a phone call from his Protestant raised mother, it was the first phone call in four months, and he hadn't thought to say no to her order at the time. He was glad he hadn't thought to refuse her, or Roxas, his place. Even though he and his younger sibling were almost a decade apart in ages, and seemingly nothing but how they ate Oreo cookies in common. Dunk and bite, none of the silly twisting rituals that Zack participated in.

But for being the start of the third week, Cloud thought the two of them had done pretty well so far. It was nice sharing his bed with something besides pillows.

Cloud woke up at two in the afternoon with a curse on his lips.

He was almost an hour late to work.

Thankfully Cid was drunk.

-


End file.
